All Chapters of Breaking The Ice Between Us: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Logan POVI shouldn’t be here.That’s the first thought that hits me as I park across the street from the sorority house, engine idling, hands still gripping the steering wheel like it’s the only thing keeping me anchored.It’s late.The house is mostly dark except for a few glowing windows, the kind of quiet that only happens when even chaos finally sleeps.I should go home.I should let it go.I should stop acting like I have any right—But the image won’t leave my head.Harper in a dress.Some guy raising a paddle.Daniel’s voice: Harper Lane looks very dateable.My jaw tightens.Someone is going to bid on her.Someone is going to win a night with her.A real date. A clean slate. No history.The thought makes something in my chest go sharp and ugly.Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m out of the truck and crossing the street.The front door is locked, but I know the side entrance from last time. I knock softly until someone cracks it open, eyes bleary.“Oh,” the girl whispers.

Logan POVThe first thing I register is warmth.The second thing I register is wrongness.Because the warmth isn’t ice house sheets or my own bed or the familiar weight of routine—It’s soft. It smells like lavender detergent and something faintly floral, like Harper’s shampoo.My eyes blink open slowly.The ceiling is unfamiliar.Not mine.My brain takes a second too long to catch up, floating somewhere between sleep and memory.Then it hits.Harper’s room.Last night.Her mouth on mine.The way everything narrowed down to heat and breath and the sound she made when she said my name like it wasn’t just a name.I exhale, rubbing a hand over my face.I slept.Actually slept.Not the half-rest, half-alert dozing I’ve been doing for weeks. Not the kind of sleep where I wake up already tense.This was… real.The best sleep I’ve had in a long time.And then my phone starts ringing.The sound is sharp, jarring, completely wrong in the quiet.I fumble for it on the nightstand.Cole’s name fl

Harper POVI make it through exactly half of my morning before my phone becomes a problem.Not because it rings.Not because it buzzes.Because it doesn’t.The silence is worse.I sit in the second row of my lecture hall, notebook open, pen moving across the page in neat, practiced strokes. I write down terms. I underline definitions. I nod at the right moments like I’m absorbing any of it.I’m not.All I can think about is the fact that Logan Shaw woke up in my bed.And I left him there.God.What kind of person does that?The kind who panics, apparently.The kind who wakes up with someone’s arm around her waist and suddenly realizes she is standing too close to the edge of something that could actually matter.The kind who doesn’t trust hot-and-cold men with sharp mouths and haunted eyes.My phone sits face-up beside my notebook.Blank.No messages.No name lighting up the screen.A part of me is relieved.Another part of me feels stupid for being relieved.Because what was I expect

Harper POVThe mirror feels like it’s judging me.Not in a cruel way.In a who are you trying to convince? kind of way.I stand in front of it in my room, smoothing my hands down the sides of the dress for the third time, even though it doesn’t need smoothing. It fits like it was made to silence every doubt I’ve ever carried.Simple.Black.Dangerous in its restraint.It hugs my curves in a way I’m not used to seeing on myself—like the dress is reminding me that I’m not just a title, not just the sorority president, not just the girl who always has everything under control.I’m a woman.Lila is perched on my bed behind me, watching with the satisfied air of someone who has personally orchestrated a moment.“Oh,” she says softly. “He’s going to suffer.”I glance at her in the mirror. “Lila.”“What?” she says innocently. “It’s the night before the auction. The mingling event. The bidders are going to be there. Logan is going to be there. And you—” she gestures at me like she’s presentin

Logan POVI don’t think.I just move.Harper’s heels click sharply against the floor as I guide her away from the center of the room, away from the donors and the laughter and the champagne glow. The noise fades with every step, replaced by the quieter hum of a side corridor lined with framed university photos and too-clean marble.She yanks her arm back the second we’re out of earshot.“Logan,” she snaps, eyes flashing, “what is wrong with you?”I stop so abruptly she almost runs into me.The hallway is dimmer here, lit by soft sconces that cast everything in warm shadow. Her black dress looks even more dangerous in this light. Like she stepped out of someone else’s fantasy.My chest is tight.My hands curl at my sides.I can still hear them.The comments.The laughter.The way they looked at her.Harper folds her arms. “You can’t just walk up and drag me away from a conversation like—like some jealous caveman.”I laugh once, sharp and humorless.“Jealous,” I repeat.Her chin lifts.